Pull Me Back
by purplepagoda
Summary: Years after the coin toss, and things aren't as either of them expected. Can Harm and Mac overcome the obstacles that life has set in their path? Will this be the time that they finally call it quits?
1. Miles Apart

She lies in the king sized bed in their master bedroom. She lies on her side, facing the window, staring at the red digits of the alarm clock that is strategically positioned on her bedside stand. The room is nearly silent, void for the sound of the ceiling fan whirring overhead, and breathing, hers, and her husband's. She lies at the edge of the bed with her back to him.

He lies on the other side of the bed, facing the door. He lies on his side, facing the door. He's as close to the edge as he can get. He lies awake, looking at the wall. He listens to the sound of her breathing. Knowing, that tomorrow brings another bitter goodbye, he contemplates voicing what they have allowed to remain unsaid. He exhales, and wonders if he's let things go too far.

She shifts her focus to the window as she hears thunder approaching. Soon the rain begins banging against the window pane. The lightening cracks outside the window, and the thunder isn't too far off. As she listens to the sound of the storm outside her windows her thoughts quickly shift to her marriage, and the storm that has been brewing within the four walls of this room. A storm that she's been trying to keep at bay for too long. She feels the tension, and the strain with every passing second. She can tell he feels it too, with every breath that he takes. She considers telling him what she's been thinking for a while. The thought has been hanging around for too long to ignore it. She wants to tell him that this isn't working.

He feels her shift, rolling onto her other side. He feels his heart pounding, in anticipation of what she's about to say. He knows that she can only be pushed so far, and she's close to her breaking point. He has been waiting for her to call it quits for months. Too prideful to admit his wrongdoing, he waits for her to call it quits. He exhales, and rolls towards her. As the lightning flashes outside of the window he glances at her face. He swallows hard, waiting for her to verbalize what he knows she's been feeling.

She glances up at him with honey colored eyes, "Don't go," she whispers.

As the thunder cracks her stoic façade shatters. In a rare moment of weakness her vulnerability shows through. He places his hand on her face. He cradles her chin with the palm of his hand. He presses his lips against hers, and for a moment he forgets all the obstacles. He pushes aside all of the memories of the hurdles that they've faced together. In that moment all that either of them can think of is being together.

In the morning the sun shines brightly. She is awake before her alarm begins to chirp. She awakens, tangled in eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. She takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes. She lies on her side, facing the door. She finds the other side of the bed empty. She sighs in defeat. She proceeds to get out of bed, slipping his white t-shirt on over her head in the process. On the way out the door she pulls on her pajama pants. She exits the room, and head downs the stairs. She finds him headed for the door.

"Harm," she whispers.

He turns and meets her glance. He stops short of the door, with his bag slung over his shoulder.

"I didn't want to wake you," he insists.

"You didn't want to say goodbye," she replies, bitterly.

"It is work, I have to go. You know that. If I had my choice I would stay."

"You always have a choice," she responds, with a hint of anger in her voice.

"Sarah, please don't do this."

She purses her lips, and the look in her eyes tells him that he's pushed her too far. The expression on her face tells him that he's looking at a woman whose let go. She swallows hard.

"If you walk out that door, don't expect to come back," she says laying things out in simple terms.

"Sarah…"

She cuts him off, "I can't do this anymore. More importantly, I won't. I deserve more."

He takes a step towards her, noting that she looks as if she's about to cry. He wants to comfort her. She extends her hand, pressing her hand against his chest, to literally keep him at arm's length.

"Don't. Just go."

He clenches his jaw, conceding to her will. He nods, and keeps a stiff upper lip, as he turns to go. She watches him go, for the last time, she vows to herself. He makes it to his car, slamming the door behind him, before it hits him. He puts the key in the ignition and grips the steering wheel with both hands. The tears begin to fall.

Inside she climbs the stairs, alone in their four bedroom house, the one that they planned, and built together. It's Saturday, and she isn't due at work. She has no plans. She reaches the top of the stairs, and hesitates outside the first door on the right. She pivots in the direction of the door. She stands frozen in front of the wooden door. It glares back at her, taunting her. She hasn't been inside that room in over a year. She takes a deep breath, and steps towards it. She grips the doorknob. She twists the knob, and pushes the door open.

She doesn't reach to her left to flip on the light switch. The natural lighting from the window situated in the center of the far wall illuminates the room. She takes a deep breath, and surveys the room. The walls are green. To her left sits a glider, and a changing table. In front of her there is a crib full of clothing. The room is full of unopened boxes, and empty promises. She turns to her right. An open closet door catches her eye. She stares at a closet full of baby clothes. She feels her heart breaking all over again at the shattered dreams that surround her in this room.

She lowers herself to the floor. For the first time in a long time she allows herself to feel it all. In a t-shirt that smells like her husband she sits there engulfed by emotion. The tears begin to fall. They continue to flow until she's sobbing. She pulls her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly.


	2. Separate Lives

Monday morning rolls around, and duty calls. Any sense of feeling sorry for herself is left at the threshold as she leaves the house. She makes a beeline for the car. She arrives to work exactly on time. She quickly maneuvers through the bull pen. Someone calls out, "Attention on deck." She mutters, "At ease," in response as she maintains her path. She enters her office, and closes the door behind her. She sinks into a large leather chair, behind her massive wooden desk. Her yeoman is on the intercom within seconds.

"General MacKenzie, your real estate agent is on the phone."

"Tell her that I'll call her back later," she responds.

"Also, ma'am your husband called."

"Tell him that I'm not in."

"I did. He's already called three times this morning."

"I just got in the building three minutes ago."

"He has called three times in five minutes."

"I don't want to talk to him," she explains.

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"Just hang up on him."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anything else, Harrison?"

"I would like to remind you that you have a meeting with SecNav at oh nine hundred, ma'am."

"I am aware."

"That is all."

"Thank you," she gladly ends the conversation.

* * *

><p>In his hotel room, halfway across the room Harm throws his phone at the wall. The sound of it crashing to the floor nearly obscures the sound of someone knocking on his door. He moves away from the window, and moves towards the door. He looks at his watch, and grips his weapon as he looks through the peephole. He finds Clayton Webb standing on the other side. He unlatches the door, and opens it. A young man, in a charcoal suit stands next to Clayton. Harm furrows his brow.<p>

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for moral support," Clayton explains.

"Moral support?" He questions.

The gentleman standing next to Clayton steps forward. He hands Harmon an envelope. He makes eye contact, "You've been served," he informs, and then steps back. Harm watches in confusion as the man heads down the hallway.

"Is this…"

Clayton cuts him off, "Not in the hallway."

Harmon nods, and retreats to his hotel room. Clayton closes the door on his way into the room.

"You should have a seat," Clayton advises.

Harm glances at the envelope, "You know what this is about?"

Clayton grins momentarily, "I know everything."

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you, I'm here for moral support."

"You don't think that I can handle this mission on my own?"

"Sit," he demands.

Harmon pulls a chair out from underneath the table in the room. He takes a seat. Clayton folds his arms across his chest.

"Webb?"

"Rabb, why do you do this?"

"Work?"

He shakes his head, "Refuse to admit when you're wrong."

"How am I wrong? I am here on the mission that you asked me to do."

"You're making a mistake."

"What mistake?"

"You have a million opportunities. You had other job offers."

"What is your point?"

"Ones that are closer to home."

"Why are you bringing this up?"

"Do you know what's in that envelope?"

Harm shakes his head, "No, but I have a feeling that you do."

"Mac called me last night."

"She doesn't answer my phone calls," he responds in a bitter tone.

"She asked me for a favor."

"To make sure that I got this envelope?"

"Harm, she filed for separation."

"I don't understand."

Clayton shakes his head, "You don't understand? All she wants is you. She just wants you with her. Why is that so damn hard for you to understand?"

"She pushes me away every damn chance that she gets."

"Didn't she ask you to stay?"

"Why do you care?" He raises his voice.

"Because you made a mistake. She is your wife. How many times have you walked away from her, when she needed you? Did you really think that she would stick around when you can't seem to stay home?"

"She knew what she was getting herself into when she married me."

"A year ago you were supposed to become parents…"

Harmon cuts him off, "I don't want to talk about this."

"You never talk about it. You never even acknowledge it. The two of you were finally going to get the family that you wanted. Then the adoption fell through."

"Why does everyone keep bringing this up?"

"The next day you were on a plane halfway across the world. You asked for a six month mission in Africa."

"That was my way of dealing with things."

"What about Sarah?"

"She didn't want me around."

"You know that isn't true."

"Did you ever consider the fact that maybe I couldn't face her?"

"Did you ever consider her feelings?"

"It was my fault. We didn't get that baby, because of me."

Clayton furrows his brow, "What do you mean?"

"I stopped by the hospital. The birth mother told me that she decided to go with another couple at the last minute, because she was afraid that I wouldn't be around enough, because I travelled too much."

"When are you ever going to get over yourself? The whole damn world isn't about you."

"Excuse me? Where do you get off lecturing me?"

"You weren't there."

"She hated me," he insists, "She was angry with me."

"She only ever blamed herself."

"What?!"

"She blamed herself for the two of you not being able to conceive, and she blamed herself for the adoption falling through."

"I didn't know that."

"How could you? You're never around when she needs you."

"I love her."

"You should have realized that ten missions ago. It's too late now."

"She is my wife."

"You haven't been a good husband."

"I…"

Clayton cuts him off, "It doesn't matter what excuse you have. She doesn't want excuses. She just wants to be done."


	3. I Wake Up Loving You

He exits the plane, and walks through the airport. He grabs his luggage from the baggage claim. He proceeds towards the exit. As he grows closer to the exit it hits him, for the first time that she's not waiting on him. He exits the airport, and heads to his car. He tosses his luggage in the back. The March air is crisp. He opens the driver's side door, and takes a seat. He places the key in the ignition. He is dressed in civilian attire. He wears a grey long sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. His eyes fall upon the silver chain around his neck. He lifts the dog tags out of his shirt. The gold band at the end of the chain makes him pause. He takes the ring off the chain, and returns it to his finger. He glances to his right, at the unoccupied passenger's seat. He can't take his eyes off the folder lying on his seat. He knows what's inside. The legal documents enclosed inside the manila folder are marked in each place that he's supposed to sign. He's been dragging his feet about signing the dissolution of marriage papers for months. It has been six and a half months since he's been stateside. Six and a half months since he's seen Sarah.

She enters the house after her morning jog, wearing an oversized USMC hoodie, and a pair of black exercise pants. Her unusually long hair is pulled into a pony tail. She heads to the fridge, and grabs her water bottle. Her cell phone lies on the kitchen counter top. It vibrates. She glances at the caller ID, but chooses to ignore it. When it stops vibrating she checks to see if she's missed any important calls. She rolls her eyes, upon seeing six missed calls from her soon to be ex-husband.

He drives towards Falls Church, wondering why she's refused to go to mediation. She refuses to take his phone calls. He refuses to sign the papers, despite the fact that she has agreed to any terms that he proposes. He pulls into the JAG HQ parking lot. He grabs a parking lot, and proceeds into the building. They give him a visitor pass, and he proceeds.

In the bullpen he doesn't find any familiar faces. He presses forward towards the JAG's office. A yeoman greets him at the door.

"Can I help you?"

"I am…"

"Sir, I know who you are."

"I'm here to see General MacKenzie," he explains.

"She's not here," the yeoman insists.

"I don't buy it."

"She truly is not here."

"She probably ordered you to say that."

"It would be difficult for her to order me to do anything."

"Because she's not here?"

"She is no longer with us."

"She's no longer with JAG?"

"That is correct," the yeoman nods.

"You're telling me that JAG allowed a one star general to slip through their hands?"

The yeoman furrows his brow, "No, sir."

"What are you saying?"

"Mister Rabb, she isn't with the marines anymore."

"Who is she with?"

"She is a civilian."

"A civilian? She would not do well in civilian life. What happened?"

"She retired," the yeoman explains.

Harmon scoffs, "She retired?" arching an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

"You are welcome to speak with Admiral McGregor."

"Who is that?"

"Her replacement."

"Where is General MacKenzie?"

He shrugs, "Have you tried calling her?"

"I thought that we had established that she doesn't answer my phone calls."

"Maybe you could try her house."

He pulls onto a suburban street, fifteen minutes later. He stops outside their home. He pulls into the driveway, and puts the car into park. He stares at the for sale sign in the yard. He dials her number, again.

She sits at the kitchen island, reading the newspaper. Her phone sits next to her. It vibrates. She reads the paper, and continues to ignore it. He hangs up when her phone goes to voice mail. He proceeds to send her a text message. In frustration she lifts the phone off the counter, and unlocks it. She reads the text message. _I know that you're home. I am looking at your car. I'm sitting in the driveway._ She decides to give in, hoping that it will prevent her from actually having to have a face to face conversation with him. She dials his number. He answers her after one ring.

"How do you know that I'm not bluffing?" He answers.

"Because I saw you pull into the driveway."

"I went to JAG to look for you."

"I'm not there," she states the obvious.

"I heard a rumor that you retired."

"That is not a rumor."

"I have a hard time believing that you retired."

"I think that thirty years of dedication is enough."

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Sarah, you really expect me to sign divorce papers, without having a face to face conversation?"

"I expect you to be an adult and sign the damn papers."

"Without a sit down?"

"Harm you can have whatever you want."

"You put the house up for sale?"

"It's in my name," she reminds him.

"We need to talk."

"So talk."

"Face to face."

"No."

"Please," he begs.

"I have given you enough chances."

"I'm coming in," he insists.

"I think that you will find that difficult."

"Do you have a security guard?"

"I change the locks, and the code to the alarm."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why are you being an asshole? Let me go."

"I'm not ready to let you go without a fight."

"We have done enough fighting."

"I love you."

"I never said that I didn't love you."

"Then why do you want a divorce?"

"Because I deserve better."

"What about Sydney?"

"What about her?" Mac arches an eyebrow.

"Don't you think that she misses me?"

Her glance shifts to the blonde sitting at the front door whining.


	4. Fight Fair

"Way to change the subject."

"Don't be heartless," he begs.

"Stop trying to make me feel guilty."

"I am willing to bet that a pair of brown eyes is doing that right now."

She stares at a blonde with a set of brown eyes. Sydney sits at the door, whining incessantly.

"That's why our marriage doesn't work. You never fight fair."

"Neither do you. Sarah I am not the only one who ignores the rules of engagement whenever it suits me."

"You're not coming in," she puts her foot down.

"So let her come to me."

"Harm you are being ridiculous right now."

"I am the one who brought her home."

"That isn't the point."

"Sarah, please."

She stares at the front door, from a chair at the island. The golden retriever scratches at the door. Sarah sighs in defeat, and rises from her chair. She goes over to the door, and pushes the cover open on the dog door with her foot. The dog runs out of the house. Harm leans against the passenger's side of the car. He squats to meet the three year old golden. She greets him with a warm wet kiss. He presses the phone to his ear.

"She knows how to greet someone."

"I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend like everything is okay. Everything is not okay."

"I know. I want to fix it."

"Do you know how many times you have told me that? How many times have you vowed to work on things, and then run out the door the first time that you got a call? I can't put myself through that anymore."

"I still love you."

"That was never the issue."

"What do you want me to say?"

"There is nothing that you can say to fix this."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Leave."

"You're going to throw away ten years of our life?"

"Ten years is better than throwing away the rest of my life waiting on someone who is never content just being here with me. No matter how much I try, no matter what I do, I am never enough. I am not okay with that."

"Sarah…"

"You need to go," she tells him as the tears stream down her face.

"What about…"

She cuts him off, "The dog stays."

"I haven't seen her in over six months. She's mine too."

"You're the one who left. Why should I be punished for that?"

"You're being harsh."

"We will work out a custody agreement for the dog. Send her back in."

He nods, and pets the dog. He hears the line go dead. He stuffs his phone in the pocket of his pants.

"In!" He commands.

The dog turns, obediently, and heads towards the door. He watches her disappear into the house, wishing that he was joining her. He returns to his car. After a few moments he backs out of the driveway.

Hours later he finds himself sitting in a hotel room, wondering how he got here. He flips through the channels but nothing catches his attention. The only thing on his mind is her. He sits on the end of the bed. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, and buries his head in his hands. He tries to make sense of it all.

She stands in her laundry room, staring at a neatly folded basket of laundry. She takes the plastic basket off the shelf. She stares at his clothes. She glances at the window to the right of the dryer. She moves across the room. She opens the window, and shoves the basket out the window, onto the lawn in anger. She slams the window closed, locking it in the process. She returns to the dryer. She watches her clothes as they spin around. She reaches for the handle, in an attempt to remove her clothing before it wrinkles. The ring on her left hand catches her eye. She steps away from the dryer, and exits the laundry room. She slips the gold band, and diamond engagement ring off her finger. She proceeds into the kitchen. She opens the drawer to the left of the fridge. She tosses the pair of rings into the junk drawer, and slams it closed.

* * *

><p><em>He climbs the stairs one evening after work, expecting to beat her home. He hears crying coming from the bathroom. He enters the master bedroom, and finds light pouring out from underneath the bathroom door. He glances at his watch, and stops in front of the door, in confusion. <em>

"_Sarah?"_

"_Go away," she responds._

"_Why are you home so early?"_

_She doesn't answer. He grabs the doorknob, and pushes the door open. He steps inside the bathroom, and finds her sitting on the floor in her uniform. She leans against the bathtub as she sobs. Her face is red from all the tears she's shed. He takes a seat next to her on the floor. _

"_Why are you home?"_

"_I don't want to talk about it."_

"_Too bad," he argues._

"_Harm, please," she begs. _

"_Sarah why are you home at noon?"_

"_Please just go away," she begs._

"_How long have you been home?"_

"_Half an hour."_

"_Why did you leave work early?"_

"_I don't want to talk about it."_

"_Please," he begs._

"_I got off early, and I went straight to the bar," she tells him._

_His eyes widen, "Excuse me?"_

"_You heard me."_

"_You've been drinking? What time did you get off work?"_

"_I left at nine thirty."_

"_You stopped at a bar at nine thirty in the morning? What kind of bar is open that early?"_

"_Does it matter?"_

"_Please tell me that you had better sense than to drive yourself home."_

"_I drove myself home."_

"_How much did you have to drink?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_Why did you go to the bar?"_

"_To drink."_

"_Why? Why were you at the bar in the first place?"_

"_I got a phone call this morning."_

"_That drove you to want to drink?"_

"_Yes," she replies in a small voice, refusing to maintain eye contact. _


	5. Walk Away

_ She falls silent. His nostrils flare, and he clenches his fists. His face turns red as the anger overcomes him. _

"_Sarah why would you put everything in jeopardy for a drink? How am I supposed to trust you? You have get a phone call, and your first thought is to go to the bar? Dammit! In a few months we're going to be parents."_

"_No, we're not."_

_He furrows his brow, "What do you mean?"_

"_We are not having a baby."_

"_In less than six months our son is going to be here."_

"_The gestational carrier called this morning," she explains in a flat tone._

"_With the amniocentesis results?"_

"_No."_

"_I don't understand," he admits._

"_She was in a car accident yesterday."_

"_Is she okay?"_

"_No."_

"_What do you mean, no?"_

"_Apparently a couple of years ago she was in a fender bender," Sarah begins._

"_How is that relevant?"_

"_There was minor damage to her car, and no one was hurt."_

"_Mac!"_

"_The airbags deployed."_

"_What is your point?"_

"_The repair shop who repaired her car did not replace her airbag properly."_

"_What do you mean? They installed it incorrectly?"_

"_Apparently it is costly, and time consuming to properly re-install an airbag."_

"_Why does it matter?"_

"_Did the airbag fail to deploy?"_

"_No, when the airbag deployed it did so with such force that it produced shrapnel."_

"_I didn't know that was possible."_

"_Neither, did I."_

"_What is going on?"_

"_She suffered a serious head injury."_

"_And?"_

_She swallows hard, "She lost the baby."_

_He feels his heart sink, "We'll try again," he vows._

_She shakes her head, "I can't do this again."_

"_You can't give up so easily."_

"_Easily? Harm I put my body through three years of fertility treatments before we came to the conclusion that we would use a gestational carrier. It took us a year to find her, and two previous failed implantations. We've been at this for almost five years. I won't do it again."_

_"You're sure?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Now what?"_

"_We accept the facts."_

_He pulls her close to him, and hugs her tightly. _

* * *

><p>He thinks about how many times he's walked away when she's needed him most. He paces the hotel room trying to figure out a way to rectify the situation. He wonders how he managed to screw up the one thing he wanted the most, so badly. He misses her so much that his heart aches.<p>

She lies on the couch, reading a book. Sydney's head rests on her lap. The golden retriever places her paw on her lap. She places a book mark on the page she's on, and closes the book. She casts her glance to the intent stare of her brown eyed pooch. She pets Sydney's head until the dog drifts off to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>She shifts on the leather couch, trying to get comfortable. Harm sits next to her. He sits on one end, and she occupies the other. The distance between them is measurable. The third party in the room hold a clipboard, and a pen.<em>

"_How did we get here?"_

_Harm folds his arms across his chest, "Our friends thought that it would be a good idea," he responds, begrudgingly._

"_Sarah what is your take on the situation?"_

_She shakes her head, "I thought that we were here to work on our marriage," she reponds._

"_You seem rather uncomfortable," the therapist points out._

"_I am not really comfortable with the thought of airing our dirty laundry to someone who charges to hear it."_

"_You made the appointment," Harm points out._

_"I want this to work."_

_"Who said that it's not?"_

"_You spend half of your time out of the country. I rarely see you. What kind of marriage is that?"_

"_You push me away."_

"_I have never once told you to leave. You always arrive on that solution on your own," she argues._

"_I just can't seem to make you happy."_

"_I can't be the only person in this marriage."_

"_I made the same vows that you did," he reminds her._

"_And they mean absolutely nothing when my husband is never around."_

_The therapist interjects, "What is the one thing that drove you to come here today?"_

_Sarah's glance falls to the floor. Harm swallows hard. _

"_Our life didn't go the way that we pictured it," he admits_

_"How do you mean?"_

_"We both thought that we would have more at stake by now."_

_"Meaning what?" The therapist quizzes._

_"We wanted a child," he admits._

_"Just one," Sarah adds._

_"How long have the two of you been married?" _

_"Eight years," he admits._

_"And you've been trying to bring that dream to fruition for how long?"_

_"The entirety of our marriage," Harm answers._

_"Three days ago it was finally supposed to become a reality," Sarah adds._

_"The birth mother changed her mind," Harmon explains._

_"So the two of you are having difficulty dealing with that loss?"_

_ The entire car ride home that evening is silent. She stares at the road, never once uttering a word. They enter the house, and she slams the door behind them. He finds her moving towards the stairs in an attempt to avoid him. He steps in front of her._

_"Where are you going?"_

_"Harm," she tries to reason with him._

_"Sarah," he whispers._

_"Please," she begs, "Not now."_

_"Why are you so angry? Are you angry at me? I'm…"_

_She cuts him off, "No," she replies in defeat._

_He furrows his brow, "I don't understand."_

_"And that's the problem, you have never understood."_

_"Understood what?" He locks eyes with her._

_"I've never been angry with you about any of this."_

_"Then who are you angry with?"_

_"Myself."_

_He furrows his brow, "Why?"_

_"All of this is my fault. I couldn't conceive. My body failed me. I failed you."_

_"You didn't fail me," he argues._

_She swallows hard, choking back tears, "Yeah, well tell that to your buddies in the nursing home when they ask you why you don't have any children," she pushes past him, and stomps up the stairs. _


	6. More Than Miles

_She lies wide awake in her bed, the night after she's told him not to come back. She thinks to the previous night, when she let her guard down, and asked him to stay. She hugs a pillow close to her chest. Ten years of marriage out the window. Ten years of her life wasted for someone who risked his life every single time he walked out the door for a mission. She had foolishly thought that those days were behind them when he left the Navy._

* * *

><p>He listens to the sound of rain on the window pane as he lies awake in his bed that night. He tosses and turns unable to find any comfort. His bed his hard, and the hotel room is far from home. He's spent more than six months away from her. This night, not much different from any over the past six months. He can sleep on a rock, underneath the stars… but not without her. He feels like a fool for the choices that he's made. The choices that he told himself he made for her. He tried to justify every mission by telling her it was for them.<p>

He stares at the ceiling, and hates himself for not realizing that all along it was for him. She's put up with his selfish for ten years. He knows that he can't blame her for giving up on him. He can't fault her for being fed up. The blame is on him, and he accepts it.

* * *

><p>She lies on her side with her sheet tucked under her armpit. She stares at the doorway, in silence. The only sound she hears is the whirring of the ceiling fan overhead. Quiet nights like this make her miss him even more. She even misses the sound of him snoring. She hugs her pillow to her chest. No matter how much she wishes, he's not by her side. Knowing that it's her call, doesn't make her rest any easier.<p>

He finds himself standing on the porch of an old colleague. He rings the doorbell, and a teenaged boy answers the door. He grins from ear to ear.

"I didn't know that you were back."

"A.J.," he smiles.

"Dad's in the dining room," he motions for him to come in.

Harm enters the house, making a beeline for the dining room. A.J. races up the stairs. Bud sits at the end of the table, sorting through a stack of paperwork.

"You're not even going to say hello?" Harmon questions.

Bud looks up from his pile of bills. He grins, "Where did you come from?"

He shrugs, "That's need to know."

"Sit down," Bud insists.

Harm pulls out a chair, and takes a seat next to him.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Bud I need a favor."

"You can't stay here. The inn is full."

"That's not it."

"What can I do?"

"Help me."

"Do what?"

"Convince my wife not to divorce me."

"I don't think I could even if I tried."

"She values your opinion."

"And, I told her two years ago that she should leave you."

"Please," he begs.

"It's not my place. You are the only one who can convince her to take you back."

"You don't sound as if you think I can do it."

"I don't," he admits.

"Why not? Is there someone else?"

Bud shakes his head, "No, nothing like that."

"Then, what?"

"You've pushed her too far. I don't know if she can forgive you."

"I just need a chance to talk to her, face to face. That is all I am asking."

"I can't help you."

"Why not?"

"She would kill me if she found out."

"She won't find out."

"Harriet definitely would, and I know that she would kill me."

"She won't talk to me."

"Why are you fighting this? Just sign the papers."

"Wouldn't you fight for your marriage?"

"You walked out on your marriage," Bud reminds him.

"I didn't walk out on my marriage. I had a job to do."

"You walked out on your wife. What did you think what going to happen? Did you really think that she would cool off, and change her mind? She made it very clear that if you left you weren't coming back."

"She practically pushed me out of the door."

"She has never been able to push you into doing anything that you don't want to."

"I love her."

"No one has ever doubted that."

"I don't want to lose her."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you walked through that door."

"I was an idiot. What do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything to me. Her opinion is the only one that counts."

"She's not going to back down, is she?"

"No."

"Then I guess we'll have to have our day in court."

"She agreed to whatever terms you want."

"I want to stay married."

"Since when did your marriage become a priority in your life?"

"It always has been."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I don't want a divorce."

"Let her go."

"She is my wife. I love her. I don't want to let her go."

"Doesn't she deserve to be happy?"

"Absolutely."

"Did it ever occur to you that she is happier without you?"

"No."

"Maybe it should."

"I can't believe that you're saying I should give up."

"I am telling you that you should be a man, and admit when you're wrong. You can't fix it."

"So I should just sign the papers?"

"Yeah," he nods in agreement.

"Why is she avoiding me?"

He shrugs, "I don't know."

"Of course you do."

"That is something that you should ask her."

"I can't. She won't talk to me."

"Why are you pushing this? Why can't you just let her go?"

"I love her."

"I am not the one you need to prove that to."

"I just want a chance to talk to her, face to face."

"Why?"

"I quit the CIA."

"For now."

"I'm not going anywhere. I want to prove that to her."

"Did you try skyping her?"

"By face to face, I meant in person."


	7. Hurt Me Tomorrow

She sits on her back patio, staring past the person sitting across the table from her. Her mind is somewhere other than the conversation. She fixates on a tree in the backyard.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

She blinks, and makes eye contact with Harriet, "Huh?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm sorry."

"How long are you going to let this go on?"

"You know the answer to that."

"He stopped by the house. He just wants to see you."

"I don't want to see him."

"Don't you think that you owe him a face to face conversation?"

"I don't owe him anything."

"He has vowed that he will sign the papers if you just sit down and talk with him."

"There is nothing to talk about," she argues.

"Mac, there is plenty to talk about."

"There is nothing that I want to talk about with him."

"What are you afraid of?"

She scowls, "Do you even have to ask?"

"That he'll change his mind?"

"He has made it pretty clear that he doesn't want a divorce."

"He quit his job."

"Harriet, I don't care. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I know that you don't want to care, but you do. No matter what you say, I know that it still matters."

"It doesn't change the fact that I don't want to be married to him anymore."

"You have to talk to him. You don't have a choice."

"Yes, I do."

"What are you going to do, avoid him for the rest of your life?"

"If I have to."

"Is that why you put the house up for sale?"

"The house is too big."

"You're full of excuses," Harriet calls her on her load of crap.

"Why are you pushing this? You, yourself have said that we should end the marriage."

"Even if you don't have any desire to listen to what he has to say, you have to admit that there are things you need to say to him."

"I have said them."

"Circumstances change."

"Nothing is going to make me change my mind."

"You made that pretty obvious, months ago."

* * *

><p><em>Harriet enters the General's office, closing the door behind her. Sarah rises from her chair to meet her. <em>

"_You wanted to see me?" _

"_Yes," Mac nods, swallowing hard._

"_Ma'am, are you okay?"_

"_Just feeling a little under the weather," she admits. _

"_Maybe you should sit down," Harriet suggests._

"_I'm fine," she argues._

"_What did you want to see me about?"_

_Mac leans against the front of her desk. "I… um," she tries to ignore the feeling at the pit of her stomach._

_Without another word Harriet steps forward, grabbing the waste paper basket from beside Mac's desk. She holds it in front of the general as she proceeds to vomit into it. _

"_I am so sorry."_

"_Are you okay?"_

"_I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me."_

"_The only thing that doesn't agree with your stomach is flying," Harriet points out._

_ That evening she gets home later than usual. She peels off her clothes, and sinks to her nose in a bubble bath. Even the calm of a nice bath can't seem to quiet her mind. She replays Harriet's words in her mind. She exits the bathtub, and grabs a towel. She wraps the fluffy white towel around her body, and proceeds to the sink. She squats down, and opens the cabinet door. She peers into the cabinet underneath the sink. She finds tub and tile cleaner, and an assortment of other cleaners. She reaches towards the back. Her fingers land on a box. She retrieves the box, and closes the cabinet doors. She rises to her feet. _

_ She goes to bed, after drying her hair. Exhausted from a long day of work she falls asleep on top of the covers. It's the first decent night of rest she's gotten in the five weeks since Harm's departure. She wakes to the sound of the blaring alarm clock. She peels herself out of bed, and heads to the bathroom to pee. After peeing, she finds herself at the sink washing her hands. She glances to her right at a plastic stick. As she turns off the faucet she reaches for a towel. Her eyes fixate on the seemingly neon color pink. Her heart skips a beat. _

"_Shit!"_

* * *

><p>"Can we talk about something else?" Mac questions.<p>

"I can't think of anything else," Harriet admits.

"Why are you so adamant about me talking to him?"

"Don't you think that he deserves to know the truth?"  
>"Yes."<p>

"So why won't you talk to him?"

"Because I don't know what the truth is."

"You need to be honest with him."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"He isn't going to sign the papers unless you have a face to face with him."

"I feel like I'm being held hostage in my own marriage."

"You don't make it easy," Harriet points out.

"Excuse me?"

"The walls that you build up around yourself make it difficult for anyone, including him to get through."

"I just want to put all of this behind me."

"Mac I think that is easier said than done."

"Now is not the right time for me to have this conversation with him."

"There is never going to be a right time."

"You don't know the half of it."

"How could I? You don't talk to me, either."

"I am talking to you now," Sarah argues.

"Yeah, but you're not saying anything."

"What do you expect?"

"I expect for you to feel something."

"I do."

"But you don't share it with anyone."

"Harriet, there are things that about me that no one else needs to know."

"You know, Harm is not the only one to blame for your marriage not working."

"I never said that he was."

"How is he supposed to be here for you, when you won't let him?"

"I never told him to go."

"And you don't let him in when he's here."


	8. Invisible

He knocks on the door, half expecting her to chicken out at the last minute. He waits for her to come to the door.

"It's open," she calls from inside the house. He reaches for the doorknob. He is surprised by the fact that the door is actually unlocked. He enters the house, closing the door behind himself.

"Where are you?" He questions.

"In here," she responds.

He ventures into the dining room. He finds her sitting at the head of the dining room table.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"Just you," she answers.

"You made dinner?"

She nods, "Yes."

"Oh."

"Have a seat," she points to the chair adjacent to her.

"I didn't expect you to make dinner."

"I still eat, that hasn't changed."

"Am I late?" He glances at his watch.

She shakes her head, "No I just sat down."

"I guess that I thought you would change your mind."

"It seems as if this is the only way that you will consider signing the divorce papers."

"Sarah, I don't know what to say."

"Then maybe you should eat first."

He nods. They sit in an awkward silence as they eat. By the time they're finished with their meal the tension between them is palpable. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He rises from his chair.

"Where are you going?"

"To put the dishes in the sink."

"Sit down," she instructs.

He nods, returning to his seat.

"The dishes can wait," she insists.

"I don't want a divorce," he explains

"I know that."

"So why are you pressing the issue?"

"Because I do," she reminds him.

"I want to come home."

"This won't be home much longer," she tells him.

"What do you mean?"

"I've gotten an offer on the house," she explains.

"You can't do that," he argues.

"My name is the only one on the deed," she reminds him.

"You can't sell this house," he argues.

"Why not?"

"It's our house."

"There is no us anymore."

"We built this house together. We planned every single detail right down to the trim."

"If the house means that much to you then maybe you should keep it."

"Where would you go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Do you always have to be so stubborn? Can't we just have a civilized conversation? Let's just put all of our cards on the table, and discuss this like two adults."

"I don't want to be married to you, anymore."

"Why not?"

"How am I supposed to stay married to someone who is never around?"

"I will be around more," he vows.

"I have heard all of this before."

"I am currently unemployed."

"Don't expect me to support you."

He furrows his brow, "I am retiring."

"Until the next time."

"Sarah why are you being such a hard ass?"

"I'm not. I am just being realistic."

"How is it that you can come to this decision so easily?"

"You think that this was an easy decision for me to make? Harm we have been married for nine years. I didn't reach this decision easily. I don't take it lightly. I have spent a lot of time contemplating ending this marriage."

"You never told me."

"I shouldn't have had to spell it out for you. I haven't been happy in a long time."

"Nothing I do makes you happy. I have tried."

"So then try to let me go."

"Is that what you really want?"

"Yes."

"I think that we should try to make this work before we just call it quits."

"We have tried to make it work. How many hours of counseling have we undergone? How many times have we tried to fix what was broken? It can't be done."

"I just think that you don't want to put the work into it."

"I am not the one who runs away every single time things get tough. Instead of dealing with things you just walk away. You leave, and hope that they will be sorted out by the time that you get home. If I wanted to be alone I wouldn't have gotten married in the first place. I am alone all the time."

"That is going to change."

"It's too little, too late," she tells him scooting her chair away from the table.

"Sarah, come on," he argues.

She shakes her head, and grabs the dirty dishes off the table. She rises from her seat, and quickly exits the room. He does a double take as she rises from her chair, and heads into the kitchen. For a moment he sits in the dining room, completely frozen. After a couple of moments he vacates his seat, and heads into the kitchen. He finds her standing at the dishwasher loading the dishes. He leans against the counter on the other side of the dishwasher. He folds his arms across his chest.

"Is there something that you want to tell me?"

"Your stuff is in storage if you want it. The key is in the junk drawer."

He furrows his brow, watching her closely as she loads the dishes.

"Sarah that isn't what I meant."

"I think that our conversation is over. You should go."

"Our conversation has only just begun. Obviously there is something of a rather large magnitude that you have failed to mention."

"We wedding band, and engagement ring are in the junk drawer too. You can have them if you want," she answers him as she closes the dishwasher. He grabs her arm.

"Sarah!"

She stops, and turns towards him, "What?"

"Talk to me," he begs.

"I have made it very clear that I don't want to talk to you. Why do you keep pushing me?"

She finally makes eye contact with him. "I don't want this to be over."

"I do."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes," she insists.

"I can't believe you."

"I do get to have a life, even if it is without you."

He doesn't respond to her. He just stares at her. His eyes shift from her face. He feels a lump forming in his throat as he studies her.

"Stop!" She growls.

"Stop, what?"

"Looking at me."

"You've made that kind of difficult."


	9. I'm Not The Only One

She stands in her kitchen with Harm. She invited him over against her better judgment. She wears a hoodie, and a pair of jeans. He can't take his eyes off of her. She prays that this awkward evening will soon end, but she know that the odds are against her.

"You avoided my phone calls for six months."

"What is your point?"

"I asked everyone if they knew why. I knew that you were angry at me. I expected after the first month, that maybe you would change your mind. I thought that maybe you would come to your senses. I certainly didn't expect to come home to this."

She swallows hard, and avoids eye contact, "You think that I expected any of this?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would you have expected me to say? We're legally separated, and I have absolutely no interest in reconciling with you."

"You withheld information from me."

"It is my information to withhold," she argues.

"You didn't think that I had a right to know?"

"Maybe I would have felt differently if you weren't half a world away at the time. I had absolutely no way of knowing that you would actually come back."

"What are you saying? You hoped that something happened to me, and I didn't come back?"

"No that's not what I meant."

"But that's what you used to justify not telling me?"

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"It all makes sense now. You didn't want to see me, because you didn't want me to find out. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I hadn't planned on it," she admits.

"That's unacceptable."

"You chose to leave."

His nostrils flare. He reaches out. She pushes his hand away.

"Don't!" She warns.

"How did we get here?" He wonders.

She shrugs, "I don't know."

"I think that we need to try to put the past behind us. We need to move forward."

"I agree."

"We need to try to settle our differences."

"We need to move forward, separately."

"How do you expect that to happen?"

"Walk away, you're good at that."

"No."

"Please just go," she begs, on the verge of tears.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Everything has changed."

"Nothing has changed."

"You don't think that this changes everything?"

She doesn't respond.

"Sarah, you're pregnant."

"I am aware of that," her glance falls to her round stomach.

"And you don't think that it changes everything?"

"No."

"You still want a divorce?"

"Yes."

"You're pregnant, with my child, and you expect me to agree to a divorce?"

"I expect you to sign the papers," she nods in confirmation.

"How can you expect that?"

"For once in your life can't you just do something for someone other than yourself? I am asking you for a divorce. Don't make this any harder than it has to be. A divorce is what is best for everyone involved."

"You're having my child, and you expect me to agree to a dissolution of marriage?"

"First of all, our marriage has already dissolved. Second of all, I never said that it was yours."

His eyes widen as his glance falls from her face onto her stomach, "Excuse me? Are you telling me that there is a possibility that the baby isn't mine?"

"Yes, that is what I am telling you," she nods.

"So the real reason that you want a divorce is that you want freedom to pursue someone else?"

"Yes."

"Was the separation even official when this happened?"

"No."

"Is the baby mine, or not?"

She purses her lips, "I don't know."

"You really expect me to believe that you don't know?"

"Yes."

"You're telling me that you went outside of our marriage, and…"

She cuts him off, "I am telling you that our marriage is over. I have been telling you that for a while, and you just haven't wanted to hear that. Please just go," she begs.

He nods, "Fine," walking away from the conversation, and leaving the house.

* * *

><p>He sits at a bar, later that evening drowning his sorrows. A blonde walks up to him, and interrupts his pity party.<p>

"Can I join you?"

He looks up at a familiar face, "Harriet what are you doing here?"

"I thought that I might find you here," she admits.

"Have a seat."

She slides onto the stool next to him, "I take it your conversation with Mac didn't go the way that you planned for it to."

"Far from it. Why didn't you warn me?"

"Warn you about what?"

"About the baby."

"It wasn't my place to tell you."

"My wife is pregnant. Don't you think that I had a right to know?"

"Yes. I just didn't have the right to tell you."

"I can't believe that this is happening."

"Which part?"

"Any of it," he takes a swig of his drink.

"Specifically?"

"She files for separation, while she's pregnant."

"She didn't know when she filed."

"I just can't believe her."

"What do you mean?"

"We've been married for nine years. We have been trying for a baby for the entirety of our marriage."

"I know."

"We both gave up on any hope that it would happen."

"I know."

"And now it has."

"She was just as surprised as you are, probably even more so."

"She told me that it might not be mine."

"She did?" Harriet reacts with a look of surprise.

"Yeah," he nods in confirmation, "You sound surprised."

"I didn't think that she was going to tell you."

"That there was a possibility that it wasn't mine? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she nods.

"Did you know?"

"That she was pregnant?"

He shakes his head, "That there was someone else? Did you know that she was seeing someone else? How long has this been going on? I mean I know that I only have myself to blame, for pushing her over the edge, but I just never expected that she would cheat. She just isn't that type. It's so out of character for her. Until today I never considered the possibility."

Harriet's facial expression changes, "What exactly did she tell you?"

"She said that she didn't know whether the baby is mine or not."

"Oh."

"Is that true? Does she really not know? Is there really another possibility, or is she just trying to push me out of her life?"

"It's true, she doesn't know."

"Who is he?"

Harriet shrugs, "I don't know."

"I feel like I'm missing something. Did she go on a binge, and have a one night stand with someone? I just can't wrap my mind around her cheating, even if she thought the marriage was over."

"You should always listen to your instincts."

"What are you saying?"

"I guess you should ask yourself if you really believe that she would cheat on you?" She turns, and walks away.


	10. Slow Me Down

She lies in her bed, wide awake. She glances at the clock, but the sound of footsteps shifts her focus. She stares at the doorway. Within seconds a shadowy figure appears in her doorway. It stops in the doorway, contemplating whether to proceed or not. She sits up, and flips on the lamp that sits on the bedside stand next to her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Something you said bothered me," he admits.

"How did you get in here?" She questions, sitting up in bed.

"I used the code," he reveals.

"I changed the code."

"You forget how well that I know you."

"Harm you're wasting your time," she insists as she flips on the lamp.

He crosses over the threshold, and enters the room. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. She inches towards the center, uncomfortable with their proximity.

"I expected you to pull your weapon on me," he adds.

"That's why you hesitated in the doorway?" She quizzes.

"Yeah," he nods in confirmation.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't be able to recognize the sound of your footsteps?"

"You made it pretty clear that you didn't want me here."

"I wouldn't shoot you."

"That's good to know."

"Harm, why are you here?"

"Because we need to talk."

"You hate talking."

"Sarah, please," he implores.

She folds her arms across her chest, "So talk."

"Are you ever going to learn to trust me?"

"I married you, didn't I?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you were pregnant?"

"I didn't want to talk to you."

"That isn't a good enough reason," he argues.

"I don't have to have a reason."

"No matter how angry you are at me, no matter how much you hate me, I still find it hard to believe that I wouldn't be the first person you would want to tell."

"I never said that you weren't the first person that I wanted to tell."

He grins, "Sarah, there are a lot of things that you never say."

"What's your point?"

"I want the truth."

She furrows her brow. She contemplates where to even begin.

* * *

><p><em>She stares at the positive pregnancy test in disbelief. She grips the plastic stick with one hand. Her nausea kicks back in the second that the reality hits her. She swallows hard, and lowers herself to the floor. Her back leans against the cabinet doors. She feels her pulse quicken. As a storm of emotions begins to wash over her she begins to hyperventilate. She has been dreaming about this day for years. She has pictured in in her mind, a thousand times. Never, in her wildest imagination did it feel like this. She feels conflicted. For a moment she feels relief that it has finally happened. A second later she feels scared, and confused. Her mind races as she thinks of all the possibilities. The tears sting her cheeks as they trail down her face. She looks at the set of rings on her left hand, thinking about what they once meant. She tries to shake the feeling of utter despair. <em>

"_This can't be happening," she tells herself. _

* * *

><p>He gently taps the side of her leg, with his hand, trying to bring her back to reality, "Sarah, did you hear me?"<p>

"Yes," she nods as she looks through him.

"I talked to Harriet earlier."

"And?"

"She simply reminded me how well that I know you."

"What's your point?"

"I have seen you angry enough that you want to kill me. You once threw a pair of stiletto heels at my head. If I hadn't ducked I am confident that I would presently only have one eye. In all that time I never once considered that you would cheat on me. The thought of you trying to get back at me by being with another man never even entered my mind."

"That makes it impossible?" She arches an eyebrow.

"It makes completely out of character for you."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I cannot imagine a scenario in which you would violate your vows to satisfy some twisted desire for vengeance."

"Maybe you just don't want to," she suggests.

"Even if you went on a three week bender, I just can't see it happening. Even if I thought that you believed there was no chance for reconciliation, and you knew that we would ultimately dissolve our marriage. I just don't buy it."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

He swallows hard, "When you said that you don't know who the father is, were you telling the truth?"

"Yes," she nods, with a pained expression on her face.

"What does that mean?"

"What does it mean for you?"

He shakes his head, "Sarah what does that mean for you?"

"It doesn't really matter," she answers in a flat tone.

"It doesn't?" He responds in disbelief.

"It's mine, that's all that matters."

"Really, that is all that matters?"

"Yes," she confirms.

"If it doesn't matter does that mean you have attempted to find out who the father is?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The testing can be dangerous."

"I assume that it's no more dangerous than an amniocentesis."

"It's not."

"I believe that they can use the sample from an amniocentesis to determine DNA."

"They can," she confirms.

"So why wouldn't you have them test DNA when you had the amniocentesis?"

"I didn't have one."

"What do you mean that you didn't have one?"

"I didn't have one," she repeats.

"Why not? You hate being unprepared."

"It has nothing to do with being prepared," she argues.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I didn't want to take the risk."

"You didn't want to take the risk? It is a minimal risk."

"I didn't want to take any risk."

"Or maybe you just didn't want to find out."

She clenches her jaw, "Please just stop," she insists.

"I just want the truth."

"Harm, please just drop it."

"Drop it? How can I drop it? Are you planning to completely remove me from every aspect of your life? You can't do that. If…"

She cuts him off, "I wouldn't prevent you from seeing your child."

"If it is mine?"


	11. Hey Jealousy

"If it is yours," she nods, continuing to avoid eye contact.

"Sarah what is really going on here?"

"Please let it go," she begs.

"Let it go? How the hell am I supposed to let it go? I come home from a mission, and I find out that you're pregnant. My wife is six months pregnant, and she didn't tell me. I think that I get to ask questions. I have the right to be suspicious."

"If you have a question, why don't you ask it?" She suggests, as the vein in her forehead begins to pulsate.

"There is no other possibility is there? You just don't want me around. You want me out of your life, so you told me that the baby might not be mine. You thought that maybe you could convince me to stay away. I guess that I didn't realize that you were that bitter. Or maybe it has nothing to do with you being bitter. Maybe, you're just being selfish. You have waited for this opportunity for so long that you don't want to share your baby with anyone else, including me. I find it hard to believe that you would deny your child its father, though."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you tell me that I might not be the father to get rid of me?"

"No."

"Then why did you tell me that?"

"Because it's true," she begins to raise her voice.

"I don't believe you," he argues.

"I guess that you don't have to."

"Sarah did you cheat on me?"

She swallows hard, and finally makes eye contact. She contemplates how to answer for a few moments, before she says anything. She exhales, and chooses to answer honestly, "No."

"So what you said earlier was a lie?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"They can't both be true," he argues.

A lump begins to form in her throat, "I wish that they weren't."

He falls silent. He scrutinizes her facial expression. There are heavy dark circles under her eyes, as if she hasn't been sleeping much lately. There is a look of pain in her eyes that he hasn't seen before. He realizes how vulnerable she looks. Her jaw is clenched, in an attempt to keep tears from falling. He can see the tears welling up in her eyes.

He shakes his head, and breaks the silence, "I don't understand."

"I don't either," she admits as the tears begin to fall from her eyes. He shifts positions, and leans towards her. She allows him to hug her. She buries her head in his shoulder as she cries. After a few moments she pushes him away. She wipes the tears from her face with the palm of her hand.

"I'm sorry."

"I know that you're angry with me. I am angry with me for being stupid enough to walk away. I am angry with me for being delusional enough to expect you to be over it by the time I got home. Please talk to me."

"I can't," she says in a small voice.

She sits in the middle of the bed with her upper half leaning against the headboard. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, and her covers are pulled up to her waist. Harm is next to her. The upper half of his body leans against the headboard. He sits on top of the covers with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"You can tell me anything," he reminds her.

"Not this," she whispers.

He furrows his brow, "Sarah?"

* * *

><p><em>She tosses the pregnancy test in the drawer, after finally mustering up enough strength to get up off the floor. She grips the countertop, in front of the bathroom sink. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. It has been five weeks since Harmon left. She notes the dark circles under her eyes, and the pale appearance of her skin. Her finger traces a scar above her eyebrow.<em>

* * *

><p><em>It is weeks before she makes an appointment with her OBGYN. She sits on an exam table, in a paper dress waiting for the doctor to enter the room. Finally she enters the room, and takes a seat on a stool. She glances at the chart, and then at Sarah. She goes down a list of questions. Half-way through Sarah seems to zone out. _

"_Sarah," she repeats._

_Sarah reinitiates eye contact, "I'm sorry, what was the question?"_

"_We established the date for the first day of your last period, but I like to deal with the whole picture," the physician explains._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Do you know what the possible dates for conception are?"_

"_September eleventh, or September fourteenth."_

"_Just two dates?"_

"_Yes," she nods. _

"_Those are all of my questions, so if you're ready I'll start my exam."_

"_Can I ask you something?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Is there a way to determine which date…"_

_The physician cuts her off, "We also use measurement tools to help us determine accuracy. That being said, it would be nearly impossible to determine whether it was the eleventh or the fourteenth."_

* * *

><p>"Mac?"<p>

She changes the subject, "I repainted the nursery."

"You mean to tell me that you got rid of the marine green?"

"I thought that it was too dark."

"I always thought that."

"That isn't what you told me."

"I still think that it is too militant," he adds.

"It doesn't matter now," she admits.

"What color did you paint?"

"Why don't you go look for yourself?"

He nods, and leaves the room. She follows him down the hallway. He finds the door to the nursery wide open. He flips on the light, and studies the room. It is much different than he remembers it. There aren't piles of boxes all over the room. The crib is empty, except for a mattress. There is no bedding in the crib. The room has even been rearranged. He studies the walls. Two walls are solid grey. The wall opposite of the crib is purple. The wall behind the crib is a chevron pattern with grey alternating with purple.

"You really shouldn't inhale all these paint fumes," he points out.

"I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"I had to hire someone," she admits.

"You did?" His eyes widen in disbelief.

"Something kept getting between me and the wall."

He smirks, "It's not very gender neutral."


	12. You Save Me

"Why does it have to be gender neutral?" She questions.

He doesn't answer her. He goes over to the closet, and pushes the door open. He stares at the clothing inside. There is a mix of green, and yellow in part of the closet. His eyes shift to the other half of the closet. He furrows his brow. He points to one of the hangers.

"Sarah, is that a tutu?"

"Yes," she confirms.

"Is that just wishful thinking?"

"For a ballerina?"

"For a girl?"

Before she can answer Sydney darts into the room, and crawls under the crib. Mac rolls her eyes.

"Out," she insists.

"There must be a thunderstorm on the horizon," Harm points out.

"She can hide under the couch, or in the master bedroom, but she does not need to be in here. I don't want dog hair all over everything."

"Sydney," Harm calls.

She wriggles her way out from underneath the crib. She stops at his feet. He bends over, and lifts her off the ground. He carries her out of the room. Mac follows him out of the room, closing the door behind them. Sydney looks over Harm's shoulder at Mac. The golden retriever glares at her.

"You're such a big baby."

Harm carries her into the master bedroom. When he puts her down, she jumps onto the bed, and burrows under the covers.

"I see that she is still a bed hog," Harm comments.

"I would like to point out that you created that monster."

He grins, "I will take responsibility for that. How is she doing with all of this," he points to her stomach.

She wears a pair of athletic shorts, and his Navy t-shirt. She looks down at her burgeoning belly.

"It irritates her."

"The baby isn't even here yet," he points out.

"It is already interfering with her life."

"How?"

"She can't get as close to me as she would like."

"I've met her, and I find that hard to believe."

"One morning I woke up, and found her lying with her head on my stomach, just looking at me."

"You've offended her."

She points to her stomach, "This offends her."

He points to the bed, "Have a seat."

She takes a seat at the end of the bed. He takes a seat next to her.

"Help me understand all of this."

"I don't know if I can."

"You filed papers to be separated the day after I left."

"Yes," she confirms.

"I didn't sign them for two months."

"I know."

"When did you find out?"

"Before you signed them," she admits.

"Why didn't you retract them?"

"I still want a divorce."

"You want to do this on your own?"

"No one wants to do this on their own."

"Sarah, what happened?"

"To us?"

He shakes his head, "That's not what I'm asking."

* * *

><p><em>September 15<em>_th__, 2014—0723 Zulu_

_Harriet rolls towards the sound of a ringing phone. Confident that all of her children are secured in their beds she doesn't even open her eyes to answer the phone. She grabs the cordless phone off the charger, and places it to her ear._

"_Hello?" She responds sheepishly._

"_I'm sorry to wake you up."_

_Harriet opens her eyes, and glances at the clock. It reads; 3:23._

"_That's okay ma'am, what's going on?"_

"_I am sorry to be calling so late."_

"_Ma'am, what's going on? You've already apologized. Is something wrong?"_

"_I need to ask you a favor," Sarah admits._

"_Anything," she agrees._

"_Can you come get me?"_

"_Ma'am where are you?"_

_Sarah doesn't respond._

"_Mac? What's going on? Are you okay?"_

"_I…" she trails off, as a lump forms in her throat._

"_Text me the address, I'll be there shortly."_

"_Thank you."_

* * *

><p><em>September 15<em>_th__, 2014—0743 Zulu_

_ Harriet enters the E.R. wearing a pair of sneakers, her pajama bottoms, and a hooded sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She approaches a nurse at the desk, who points her in the right direction. She stops in front of E.R. bay 17. The door is closed. She takes a deep breath, and knocks. Someone on the other side of the door tells her to enter. She closes door behind her. She looks up, and finds her commanding officer sitting in a hospital bed, wearing a gown. Harriet sets the bag of clothing down on a chair next to the bed. She steps forward, and examines the general. She has six stiches above her left eyebrow. She has an abrasion to her right cheekbone. Her lip is split. _

"_I brought clothes, like you asked."_

"_Thank you."_

"_What happened?"_

"_Nothing," she lies._

"_Were you in a car accident?"_

"_No."_

"_A bar fight?"_

"_No."_

_Harriet reaches for her hand. She notices the bruising on her arms, and the abrasions on her knuckles. She notices a bruise in the shape of a handprint on her right arm. _

"_What happened to you?"_

"_I don't want to talk about it," she answers, "I just want to go home."_

"_Where are you clothes?" _

"_They took them," she says in a small voice._

"_Why did they take them?"_

_Sarah breaks eye contact, "Because they're evidence."_

"_Evidence of what? Did you kill someone?"_

"_No."_


	13. Take It Out On Me

He snaps his fingers, "Earth to Sarah."

"Sorry," she shakes it off.

"Where did you go?"

"Don't worry about it," she tells him.

"Talk to me," he begs.

"I should get to bed."

"You're retired. Do you have somewhere to be in the morning?"

"Court," she answers.

"Court? You're retired. Why would you be going to court? Have you been court martialed?"

"I have not."

"So why are you going to court?"

"Hopefully I'm not."

"You just said that you were."

"I am hopeful that an out of court deal can be made. I don't really want to appear in court tomorrow. I don't have anything to wear."

"You could always wear your uniform."

"It doesn't fit."

"Too bad, the star on each shoulder should be enough to intimidate anyone."

"That isn't the goal."

"Are you an expert witness?"

"I am _the_ witness."

"For who?"

"The prosecution."

"What's going on?"

* * *

><p><em>September 14<em>_th__, 0259 Zulu_

_She pulls into her garage, in her SUV. She pushes the garage door opener to close the door. She sits in the car, with the door closed, and the engine off as she collects a stack of files from her passenger's side seat. She removes the key from the ignition, and opens the door. She slides out of the vehicle. The only light on is light from the garage door motor. She hears rustling coming from in front of the car. She looks up, and finds a figure standing in front of her. Her heart sinks. She freezes. Her keys are between her knuckles. Footsteps move towards her. They stop less than a foot from her. She stares at the face of a former Navy seal. She swallows hard, dropping the files on the ground. _

"_Do you remember me?" He questions._

_She says nothing. She hears something behind her. She turns her head, and finds another male figure standing behind her. She notices the gun in his hand. He reacts quickly. He cracks her in the back of the head with the weapon. She feels her blood pressure rising as blood rushes to her head. She stumbles backwards. She presses her body against the driver's side of her car. The first figure comes at her with a wrench. She ducks, and he connects with the car window. She takes the opportunity to make her move. She raises her fist. A hand grabs her, and yanks her wrist backwards. She tries to wriggle free from his grip, but he's seven inches taller than she is, and is significantly heavier. _

_ The second figure shoves her against the car. The back of her head hits the car. She feels woozy, but she doesn't lose consciousness. The second figure takes the opportunity to pin her against the car. He grips her arms, and holds her against the car. The first figure brandishes his weapon again. She knees the second figure in the groin. He loosens his grip on her. The first figure reacts quickly, cracking her in the head with a wrench. She manages to uppercut him in the jaw. His fist clenches, and he connects with her right cheekbone. She notes the brass knuckles as he retracts his fist. The second figure recovers. His nostrils flare as he comes towards her. She pushes him, in an attempt to throw him off balance. _

"_Joe, a little help here," the second figure asks._

_Joe nods, and proceeds to restrain her. She kicks at him, as he moves her away from the car. The second figure opens the rear driver's side door. They proceed to attempt to get her into the back seat of the car. She grips the door, unwilling to get in the car. She kicks, and thrashes violently. She feels herself beginning to drift out of consciousness. They bang her head against the car as they attempt to subdue her. She loses consciousness for a few seconds. By the time that she regains consciousness she is lying in her back seat. She lies in a supine position. She opens her eyes, and finds herself face to face with the second figure. He has her arms pinned above her head. Joe straddles her. He rips her uniform shirt off. The buttons fly all over the car. She kicks at him. She tries to free her arms. She glances upward for a brief moment. She finds a needle coming towards her. She tries to wriggle away. He injects her before she can get away. Within seconds she feels a decrease in muscle control. She tries to get away, but her attempts prove futile. _

* * *

><p>He squeezes her hand, and she returns to reality. She looks over at him, and realizes that she's crying.<p>

"I'm sorry."

"Sarah, talk to me," he begs.

"They tried to postpone the court date," she explains.

"For what? You have said absolutely nothing about what is going on."

"I wouldn't know where to start," she admits.

"The beginning," he suggests.

"I don't know if I can."

"Please," he begs.

Before she can begin she feels a foot kick her in the rib.

* * *

><p><em>She trudges down the stairs in her pajamas. She moves towards the sound of someone knocking on her door. She looks out the peephole, and proceeds to unlock the door. She pulls the door open. Harriet enters the house.<em>

"_Harriet it's eleven o'clock what are you doing here so late?"_

"_I am worried about you."_

"_Don't be."_

"_You weren't yourself today," she points out._

_Sarah leads her into the living room. She points to the couch, "Have a seat."_

_Harriet takes a seat. Sarah sits on the arm of the couch with her feet on the cushion next to Harriet. _

"_You don't talk about it," Harriet begins._

"_There is nothing to talk about."_

"_I could tell that it was on your mind today."_

"_I'm fine," she lies._

"_No, you're not. It has barely been a month, and you're..."_

_Sarah cuts her off, "I will be fine."_

"_Who are you trying to convince?"_

_She shrugs, "I don't know."_

"_You seemed very distracted today. What's on your mind?"_

"_Nothing," she lies._

"_This morning when you were on your way to your office you looked as if you could puke."_


	14. Holes

"_I barely made it into the office. __I puked in the trash can the second the door closed," she admits._

"_At what point are you going to talk about this with someone?"_

"_Who says that I haven't?"_

"_I know that you haven't."_

"_I don't want to talk about it."_

"_So you're just going to let it consume you?"_

"_Harriet…"_

"_Mac, please. I got a call from you at three o'clock in the morning, and came to get you from the hospital. When we got here your garage was a crime scene, and they took your car for evidence. You took two days off work, and came back. You lied to everyone, and said that you crashed your car into a tree. I saw the look on your face that night, I know that you didn't hit a tree."_

"_What do you want me to say?"_

"_Anything."_

_She swallows hard, "I'm pregnant."_

"_What?!"_

"_Please don't make me repeat that."_

"_You're pregnant?"_

_Sarah nods._

"_When did you find out?"  
><em>

_"This morning," she admits._

"_I don't know what to say."_

"_Neither do I."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_I took half a dozen tests," she reveals._

_Harriet studies the look Mac's face. Mac doesn't say anything. The tears begin to stream down her cheeks. _

"_It's okay," Harriet reassures her._

"_No, it's not. None of this is okay. I don't think that I can do this. I…"_

"_Mac?"_

"_I don't know how this could have happened," she adds._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_This shouldn't be happening."_

"_What do you mean it shouldn't be happening?"_

"_It isn't possible," she sobs._

_Harriet furrows her brow, "What makes you say that?"_

"_I did everything that I was supposed to do."_

_Harriet scoots towards her, "What do you mean?"_

"_I can't be pregnant. I don't know…" she trails off._

"_You don't know what?"_

"_I don't know who the father is," she responds, hysterically._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Something went wrong."_

"_What went wrong?"_

"_Everything," she estimates._

"_I don't understand."_

"_I took the pill."_

_Harriet's heart sinks, "You don't think that there is any possibility that the baby is Harm's?"_

"_He left five weeks ago."_

"_I know."_

"_And for the six months before that we were sleeping in separate rooms. That night I thought I could convince him to stay. I asked him to stay. I thought that…" she stops mid-sentence._

"_Mac?"_

"_Four weeks, and four days ago... I took the pill. This shouldn't be happening."_

* * *

><p>"Sarah, please," he begs her.<p>

"I'm tired," she tells him.

"Why won't you talk to me?"

"I have to be up early in the morning," she insists.

"For court?"

"Yes."

"Why are you going to court?"

"It's late, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"You expect me to just leave?"

"You can sleep on the couch if you want," she answers.

"The couch? What about the guest room?"

"You can't sleep in there they just painted it this evening."

"How many rooms did you have repainted?"

"The other three bedrooms."

"Why?"

"I didn't like the wall color. That is all of the reason that I need."

She tosses and turns the entire rest of the night. He makes a resolution to make the best of a sticky situation. He retires to the couch without any argument. In an unexpected turn of events he ends up with a sleeping buddy. Just as he manages to get comfortable on the couch Sydney jumps on top of him. She worms her way into a spot between him, and the back of the couch.

When he wakes up he finds Sarah sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper. He walks over to the cabinet above the coffee maker. He opens the cabinet drawer, and peers inside. He finds the cabinet void of coffee. He furrows his brow.

"Mac?"

"Huh?" She looks up from the article that she's reading.

"There is no coffee in here."

"Sorry," she apologizes.

"How did you run out of coffee?"

She swivels around, on the stool that she's on. She looks at her stomach, and then at him, "I haven't drank any coffee in a while."

"Right," he nods.

"You drank all of it before you quit?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"Coffee has a pretty lengthy shelf life," he points out.

"Harm I threw it away."

"Why?"

"I could smell it from the bedroom."

"That is an exaggeration."

"Every time I smell coffee, or even coffee grounds I get sick."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I can't eat a cheeseburger, either."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't even go into a burger joint."

"Why not?"

"The smell makes me sick."

"Is that normal?"

"The doctor assured me that it would pass."

"Has it?"

She shrugs, "I stopped subjecting myself to burgers, and coffee several months ago."

"What time are you supposed to be in court?"

"Soon."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," she shakes her head, "but you could do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Check to see if the paint is dry, and put the crown molding back up."

"I can do that."

She smiles at him, "You do know that isn't going to change anything, right? You being here, or putting the crown molding up is not going to dissuade me from the divorce."

He nods, "And it's not going to change the fact that I still love you."

"You do know that you can't stay here, right?"

"Yeah."

She leaves the house. He watches her back out the driveway in her silver SUV. He wonders to himself when she got a new car. He exits the house, and heads into the garage to grab his tools. He pushes the door open, half-expecting to find her other vehicle. He finds both garage bays empty. He flips on the light, and makes his way across the garage towards his work bench. He stops halfway across. He stares at a divot in the concrete. He shifts into a squatting position. He rubs his finger over the void in the concrete. He rises to his feet, and tips his head upward, realizing that the light above his head is out. He studies the burnt out bulb for a moment before something else catches his eye. He stares at a hole in the ceiling. Curious, he pulls the string on the ceiling between the two garage bays. He climbs into the attic crawl space. He uses his phone as a flashlight. He follows the trajectory of the hole. He places his hand against one of the trusses.


	15. It's Not Just Me

Slightly disoriented he heads back into the house with his tools. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials a familiar number. The party on the other end answers after two rings.

"Harriet?"

"Yes?"

"There appear to be bullet holes in the garage."

"What garage?"

"My garage," he answers.

"Why are you in the garage?"

"I'm not. I'm in the house now."

"She let you in?"

"I snuck in last night."

"She didn't kick you out?"

"No."

"So the two of you…"

He cuts her off, "She made it very clear that despite the fact that Sydney and I slept on the couch last night, I will not be staying here regularly. She also pointed out that she is going to continue to pursue the divorce."

"Is she there?"

"No. She's in court."

"She told you?"

"She told me that she was going to court. She didn't elaborate."

"Oh."

"Back to my question, why are there bullet holes in the garage?"

"I can't really speak to that. I wasn't there."

"Did someone fire shots in the garage?"

"I believe that they did," she responds.

"Who?"

"That is something you should ask Mac."

"Why?"

"Because it is not my story to tell."

"Harriet, why were there shots fired?"

"Again, not my place."

"What the hell is going on, here? Was this house a crime scene at some point?"

"The house was not."

"Was the garage?"

"You need to talk to Mac."

"She won't tell me anything."

"Give her time."

"I am trying."

"What has she told you, so far?"

"That she didn't cheat on me."

"That's it?"

"But there is still a possibility that the baby isn't mine. I don't know what to believe. I just want to know what happened. Why won't she talk to me?"

"I don't know. What are you still doing at the house if she's not there?"

"She told me to put the crown molding back up."

"She did?"

"Yes, why do you sound surprised?"

"Did she show you the paint?"

"Lavender and grey aren't the colors I would have chosen, but it is her house."

"What about the other rooms?"

"No, why? Did she continue with her marine green theme?"

"I don't believe so. I haven't actually seen the paint. I only saw paint samples."

"Should I be worried?"

"We're really busy here. I've got to go."

"Harriet?"

She hangs up on him. He carries his nail gun, and air compressor up the stairs. Before he can make it to the first bedroom the doorbell is ringing. He races down the stairs, and pulls the door open, just in time to find the UPS man driving away. He stares at the box sitting in front of him. He studies it carefully. He drags it into the house. He bumps into a table in the entry way. The table tips, and the drawer nearly falls out before he can balance it. A piece of paper inside of the drawer catches his eye. It is an index card with a number written on it.

Twenty minutes later he finds himself at the courthouse. He stops in the clerk's office. He flashes the young clerk a smile.

"Excuse me, can you tell me which courtroom this case is in?"

She glances at the number, "Six," she answers.

He nods, "Thank you," and scurries off.

He quietly enters courtroom number six. He finds Sarah sitting on the stand. She briefly glances up, making eye contact. The defense attorney clears his throat.

"Answer the question please," he directs her.

She shifts her focus to the defense attorney, "I know both of the defendants."

"And isn't true that you prosecuted them?"

"Objection! Prejudicial." Counsel argues.

"Speaks to motive," defense counsel counters.

"Overruled," the judge announces, "Answer the question," he directs.

"Yes," she confirms.

"And you believe that they were guilty?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Did it make you angry when they were convicted of lessor charges?"

"Yes."

"One could say that you had a personal vendetta against them."

"A personal vendetta?" She cocks an eyebrow, "No, I did not."

"Isn't it true that you felt they deserved harsher punishment?"

"Yes."

"So when you saw them again you decided that you were going to be the judge, the jury, and the executioner?"

"Objection, draws for a conclusion," the prosecution chimes in.

"Withdrawn," the defense attorney responds. He walks back to the table, and glances at paperwork. He re-approaches, "You shot at both of the defendants. How do we know that your account of the events is true? How can we know that you are not merely trying to defend your own actions?"

"You're kidding me, right?" She responds.

"Why should we believe your story over the defendants' testimony?"

"Forensic evidence," she answers.

"I am glad that you brought that up," he smirks, "Forensic evidence puts a gun in your hands. Forensic evidence has you shooting at my clients. The x-ray reports show that if the bullet had been a few millimeters closer that both of them would be dead right now. Why should we believe your account of events?"

"Objection," the prosecution stands up, "defense is badgering the witness."

"Sustained," the judge agrees.

"When is your due date?"

"Objection," prosecution responds, "relevance?"

"Your honor if you would just give me a little latitude," the defense implores.

The judge nods, "A little."

"When is your due date?" The defense repeats.

She exhales, "June sixth."

"June sixth. How many weeks after September fifteenth is that Miss MacKenzie?"

She swallows hard, "About thirty eight."

"How many weeks are between the date of conception, and an estimated due date, usually?"

"Thirty eight."

The prosecution rises, "Your honor I object to this line of questioning."

The prosecution continues without waiting on the judge to respond, "Does the child that you are carrying belong to one of the defendants?"

"Your honor!" The prosecution cries.

"I'd like to hear the answer. Miss MacKenzie please answer the question."

"I don't know," she admits.

"Is there a possibility that the child you're pregnant with does belong to one of the defendants?"

"Yes."

"You expect us to believe your story despite the fact that you could possibly be carrying the child of one of…"


	16. Words I Couldn't Say

The judge cuts him off, "I've heard enough. Counsel please approach."

The judge covers the microphone. Counsel approaches. She looks at the defense counsel.

"Mister Graham what are you trying to prove here?"

"Reasonable doubt," defense responds.

"Reasonable doubt? Mister Graham are you trying to play on the jurors emotions?"

"I am trying to exonerate my clients."

"By proving what?"

"If her account of things is true, she wouldn't be keeping the baby."

"I don't think that her decision to keep the baby has any bearing on whether or not what she is saying is true," the judge points out.

"Your honor, I believe that is for the jury to decide," defense responds.

"I would like to remind you that three of your jurors are mothers. Six of them are parents. If you want to continue with this line of questioning it is up to you, however I will caution you to tread lightly."

"Absolutely," he nods in agreement.

"You may proceed."

The defense counsel returns to his previous spot, "You expect us to believe that despite your testimony of what you alleged my clients did to you, that you would choose to keep the baby, even if it might belong to one of them?"

"I expect you to believe it because it's true."

"So then you would consent to a DNA test?"

"A DNA test would not prove your claim that your clients are innocent," Mac retorts.

"Is that a yes, or a no?"

"Not today," she answers.

"Do you have something to hide?"

"No."

"Then why won't you consent to a DNA test?"

"I said that I wouldn't consent to one today," she responds.

"When would you consent to one?"

"Sometime in June."

"The defense rests," he returns to his seat.

Prosecution rises, "I move for a recess your honor."

The judge nods, "This court will recess until nine am tomorrow," she bangs the gavel, "You may step down."

The prosecution escorts Mac out of the courtroom. Harm grabs her hand, and leads her out a side door. She follows him down the steps, and to her car. Once he's certain that there is no media around he motions for her to leave. They both return to the house. By the time he enters the house she's lying on the floor, in the living room, on her back. She is still wearing her slacks, and dress shirt. He hovers over her.

"Mac what are you doing on the floor?"

"It's more comfortable than the couch."

"In what world?"

"For my back."

He lies down next to her, "Sarah, talk to me, please."

"I don't know what to say."

"Why don't we start with the crown molding that I put up?"

"Okay," she sighs in relief.

"When did you start liking the color blue?"

"I don't know."

"You got a package today," he adds.

"Did the baby monitor come?"

"It wasn't a baby monitor. It was a stroller."

"I didn't order a stroller," she admits.

"It was from Clayton."

"That was sweet."

"You told him, before you told me?"

"I saw him before I saw you. It's not as if I can hide it."

"Why did he send you a double stroller? On that note, why are there dinosaur blankets in the laundry room?"

"I love dinosaurs."

"I know. Are you planning on putting your daughter in dinosaur pajamas?"

"No."

"You're planning on putting someone in them."

"Not my daughter," she admits.

"Imagine my surprise when I went into what used to be your office, to put the crown molding back up, and I find a second crib."

"I should have told you."

"There are a lot of things that you should have told me."

"I'm sorry."

"Why don't you tell me about the bullet holes in the garage?"

"You know that if the prosecution fails to win that I will probably being going on trial."

He furrows his brow, "For what?"

"Attempted murder."

"If you wanted to kill someone you wouldn't attempt it."

"That isn't what the prosecution will argue."

"How do you know?"

"They'll say that my motor skills were impaired."

"You had been drinking?"

"No."

"Then why would they say that?"

* * *

><p><em>As he pulls the syringe away from her arm she feels her muscles begin to become flaccid. Suddenly she finds it hard to move, or fight back. The movements she does make are uncoordinated at best. She can't free her arms, and they remain penned above her head. She wants to scream but she feels as if she's paralyzed. One of the assailants pens her arms down as the other straddles her. As he proceeds to undress her she can feel blood trickling from wound to her head onto the seat of the car. She closes her eyes hoping that when she opens them that all of this will have just been a nightmare. <em>

_ When she opens her eyes the nightmare that she's living in only continues. She watches in horror as they trade places in the car. When it's over they both exit the vehicle. She hears them talking outside of the vehicle._

"_What do you want to do with her, Joe?"_

"_Seth, put an end to her," he answers._

_She hears footsteps. She begins to regain muscle control. She reaches under the seat with her right hand. She hears a click, and feels metal against her head. She pulls her hand out from under the seat, and fires a round. She hits him in the shoulder. As he stumbles backwards Joe moves towards her. He leans into the vehicle. She squeezes off another round. It hits him in the chest. The two of them lie on the floor bleeding for several moments. She manages to gather enough strength to shift into a sitting position. Her head throbs as she sits up. She feels dizzy, and lies back down. She loses consciousness. The next thing she knows she hears sirens. She looks around the garage. She finds the garage door wide open. _


End file.
